Absolution
by DarkFlameOfTheMonkey
Summary: "Batman," Pegasus announces proudly. "And the new Funny Bunny!" The comic books unroll from his hand. That's the first week. After a month in the hospital Cyndia tells him honestly, "I really don't want to die." Everyone gives her flowers. Every colour.
1. March

**A/N: Well, my first run at the Yu Gi Oh fandom. ^^ Watched a few episodes as a kid, wondered what the heck was going on, thought that Yami Yugi was evil, knew it was all about CARD GAMES! And then last December, I got _very _into Yu Gi Oh the Abridged Series. Bless LittleKuriboh, man. Ye gods. Epicness. :D**

**So it was the summer holidays, and I went through a kind of creative Renaissance. Scribbling out fanfiction at 1am, painting and sewing, watching YGOTAS, starting a huge fangirlship on Pegasus. His backstory moved me, simple as that. :) I started writing Absolution. School restarted, and I did about 1/6 of the story in four months. :P But now first part's out, so yay. I intend to have the next three parts up by the end of June.**

**So here's a detailed look at the before and after of Cyndia's illness, at the nuances of love and despair, at the obstacles one has to break through. It'll be in four instalments. A mix of the romantic, the comic, the tragic. I hope you enjoy!**

_This chapter is called March._

* * *

><p>Three white cars glided down the manor's long driveway. Halfway up the sand-coloured gravel the first car in the procession halted and a young man threw open the door. For a moment he stood in the sun, chest thrust out proudly and relishing the fresh air. Then he turned back to the car, taking the hand of a young woman as she stepped out. His gaze lingered on her legs, left exposed by a knee-length summer dress. The woman reached up her free hand to check the flowers woven into her hair, then to shade her eyes. A look was exchanged before the couple ran all the way to the house, two flitting silhouettes against the green hedges.<p>

Cyndia screamed with laughter as her husband pulled her along. "I'm losing the flowers!"

Pegasus kept running. "But you look amazing!" he shouted with a smile. He grabbed Cyndia's other hand and spun her around fast. Her long hair shed little perfumed stars, fanning out along with her white skirt. Pegasus's hungry eyes caught every move. He caught her in his arms on the next turn, breathing hard onto her shoulder.

"I love you."

Cyndia's heart never failed to warm whenever Pegasus said that. "Arguing with my mother was worth it. On a day like this, a beach dress wins over a gigantic poofy gown."

"We're married now. Who cares what anyone else thinks? You're beautiful."

They stepped into the shade just in front of the door. The cars had caught up, discharging the couple's parents and one of Cyndia's aunts who'd tagged along to the chapel. She walked towards the newlyweds with arms spread wide, face like a cheerful apple. Cyndia blushed when her aunt pinched Pegasus's cheek.

"Have I got a surprise for you, kids!"

* * *

><p>"Is... Is that a string quartet?"<p>

"A string quartet and then some!"

"You organised this behind our backs, didn't you, Auntie!" Cyndia cast her eyes around the Crawford estate's garden. Tables had been set up on the grass for an outdoor luncheon, there was a stage... ribbons and balloons... a grand piano and a smattering of musicians... A clear spring sky glowed blue over it all.

The guests acknowledged the newlyweds' arrival with a raucous Las Vegas glitterati welcome. They started tapping their wine glasses to see a kiss and a few shattered under the excess enthusiasm.

"Darling, it's like the party the night we met," said Pegasus, gently curling his fingers around Cyndia's.

She had clapped her hand over her mouth, startled by the cheer. "And once again, I don't know anyone here except you. We were planning to eat cake on the sofa and laze around for the rest of the afternoon!"

Pegasus laughed. The day was warm, the grass looked fresh and bright under his feet, and he was absolutely in love. He was a second away from kicking his feet and exploding with the thrill running through his veins. "As if we can do that now. Aren't you just _buzzing, _darling?"

Cyndia felt his arms around her waist and registered a tingle. "I'm the happiest girl in the world, yes," she gushed.

"You're my Cinderella, and you've just walked into your ball. If you'll remember, the prince's eyes don't leave the maiden for the whole evening..." A dreamy look entered Pegasus's brown eyes, one she recognised. "We don't have to talk to anyone. They'll gorge themselves and get drunk all on their own." He kissed her lightly. "Let's have our dance. Just you and me." Now his eyes gleamed.

They made their way to a clear patch of lawn. A violin piece was being played, one that lifted their hearts to the sky. Piano notes tinkled into place and Cyndia felt tingles again, up and down her legs. She laced her fingers behind his neck and they kissed again, and she wanted nothing more than to be this close to her lover forever.

They stepped and swayed over the dewed grass. Pegasus tucked a lock of pale blonde hair behind Cyndia's ear. She wasn't wearing make-up, so her blue eyes shone even more strikingly. Her lips were pale and soft, matching her cream-coloured skin. Everything about Cyndia today was oddly light and watery; he felt as if she could float away.

A wedding reception with just the two of them existing. His bride in a beach dress and here he was dancing without a jacket and tie...

"You know, you're an awkward dancer."

Pegasus took on an expression of mock surprise. "But I'm following _your _lead!"

She couldn't help but laugh wildly at that.

"A change of pace, darling?" He held her waist tightly and spun around in a wide circle. The second turn was faster. On the third Cyndia was beating her hands on Pegasus's shoulders and shouting for him to stop. One more twirl and they nearly crashed into a man with a camera.

"What's this in our way, then? Hellooo!" Pegasus waved at the bulging fish-eye lens. He leaned in close and began to rearrange his hair in the dark reflection.

"The poor man's meant to capture our wedding memories and you're preening yourself in front of his camera. Honestly- _Whoaa!_"

Pegasus had swept her into his arms again, grinning. "Now see here," he said to the cameraman. "Your job is to get as much footage of this lady right here, understand? See, zoom in a little bit. Isn't she lovely?" He swung Cyndia around slowly, then dipped her. Next he pushed her towards the camera, cradled her chin in his hand and kissed her cheek long, hard and noisily.

"And don't you dare edit that part out!"

* * *

><p>Cyndia shook out the quilt. "Are you going to bed yet?" she called when she heard Pegasus come out of the en suite.<p>

"I don't know. Are we?" Hands trailing along her belly, the chin of a perfect oval face on her shoulder. Oh, he was adorable. And now Pegasus was lowering her into bed and kissing circles around her face. Cyndia slid a hand into the collar of his satin pyjama shirt, trailed to the buttons.

Whenever they were together like this, Cyndia had a habit of smiling cheekily every now and then, before scooping up the nearest patch of skin in a kiss. This time there were no smiles. She emptied her lungs in a sigh and breathed in everything she could, all the different smells and sensations of her husband.

Pegasus' lips moved to her neck. She balled her hands into fists and pressed her wrists against his back, pressed him closer to her. Her mind went velvety and every thought almost brought tears to her eyes. _She needed him loved him loved him loved-_ She squeezed her wrists against his back, shook out the tears, teeth clenched. For a fearful moment she wondered if she'd ever be able to show how much more of him she needed. One month. Hardly enough. A length of silver hair was woven in between her fingers, wonderfully cool and smooth. Wanted more. Needed more, more, more, and _oh God, _**why**_ was this happening?_

Remarkable how two people seemed made for each other. Her leg thrown over his, his chin pressing gently onto her eyelid whenever she nuzzled his neck. His sly arm that reached around and tickled her side.

They slept like this and when they woke up she started telling him about everything... the doctor said yesterday... I'm sorry, Pegasus...

* * *

><p><em>At their wedding, the surprise party in the garden, Cyndia Crawford had stopped a moment. It is hard, in life, to truly stop. Of course your planet is whizzing through vacuum at 30 kilometres a second, but a pile of rock and dust that big is hard to argue with. Stopping all depends on you.<em>

_Stop breathing. Stop thinking. Stop pretending that you exist and look at everything and everyone that does. When you stop, all that really remains are emotions. Which are, once you separate the bits, all species of Love._

_Cyndia loved the sun, beating down on her bare arms with steady thrums. Cyndia loved the chopped and shaven grass poking through her shoes. And the smell of flowers was there in that moment, unseen but eliciting butterfly-wing flutters in every belly; a peak of heady joy, gone before the curiosity can be satisfied. Smell was _chemicals_, chemicals to the end, but why do they tickle and torture you so much?_

_She flicked away a flower which was falling over her eye. She was just realising that there was _water_ everywhere as well, in the air and settling on her skin, just like when she'd kept the hose on just to see the rainbow it made, waved it around to see the whole sideways arch, while the poor orange tree was dying right beside her..._

_"Cyndia? Everything all right?"_

_She turned to him and the world did the same. Her smile existed, because Pegasus saw it and loved it._

_"Pegasus..." she said. "You know, I've never cried just from being happy before."_


	2. April

_This chapter is called April._

_In summer, it is the hailstorm that perforates your life. In winter, a curtained tragedy. In autumn it fades into the background of misery and decay._

_But in spring, yes, it is different in spring..._

_What joy it must be to die in spring, with a casket perfumed by all the petals in the world!_

_And oh, how those flowers mock him._

* * *

><p>Cyndia's room was on the third floor, room 354. She'd shuffled in on that first day, her husband on her arm, and whispered, "No windows?" as if the lack of natural light terrified her just as much as more bad news from the doctors. The words falling down one by one: Terminal. Months. End.<p>

Pegasus visited once or twice every day. As he put his hand on the silver knob the words _It's very serious_ flickered in his memory, from one of the first appointments. He heard ticking as soon as he went inside. Cyndia's father, on the day of her arrival at the hospital, had had a frank conversation with her. Pegasus didn't know what had transpired, but the man had given his daughter his beloved gold pocket-watch.

The watch was on her pillow this very moment, and Cyndia was on her side looking sleepily at it. He wondered why she liked it so much. Did she _like_ listening to all the time being wasted? Every second they couldn't spend together anym-? Pegasus swallowed hard.

Cyndia scooped the watch into her hands and slapped it closed, pushing herself up when she saw the flash of silver hair in her doorway. And Pegasus thought, _No, she's just waiting, counting down until visiting hours._ The rolled-up comic books crackled in his hand and he smiled to see her. He'll always smile.

"Batman," he announces proudly. "And the new Funny Bunny!" The comic books went on the little desk under the pocket-watch.

Cyndia doesn't have to say thank you.

She sat with her arms around her knees, sort of winked at him. Or perhaps it was just her eyes drooping from tiredness. Cyndia had permanent bed hair these days. She muttered Pegasus' name and reached out a hand to be taken. She's not happy and by God, he knows it.

"You know, sometimes I just _hate_ myself," she said straight away. "I want to go for a walk. I want to look outside and know what the weather's like when I wake up." Absently she pinched the underside of her thigh and kicked out her right foot; her body did a hundred other impatient little spasms like this all day. There was the _bed,_ and those were her _toes_ and knees and arms and hair_,_ but there was something very wrong about this image. You remembered that Cyndia was still only a teenager.

He absolutely cannot say anything to that.

Pegasus gulped, didn't meet her eyes, but nodded. He dropped a box onto her lap. The cardboard was a dark pink colour, the package tied together with a satin ribbon. Cyndia's eyes widened at this extra gift as she picked it up, sat it flat on her palms like a jewelled egg in its stand.

Pegasus took one end of the bow, she took the other, they pulled it loose together. Inside were four chocolate truffles.

"I don't think they give you much of it here. I know you're missing it."

For the first week every day was as awkward as this, with Pegasus knowing he could give her _mountains_ of chocolate, or books, and CDs and movies to watch- Hell, he could transplant half of the Crawford manor into this ward and Cyndia would still pine for their own bed and permission to walk out of her own door.

That day she ate, they talked, she fell asleep.

* * *

><p>They reached the one month mark. They told Cyndia in the morning that the situation was hopeless.<p>

"I'm so scared."

A weight fell lightly on her hand. His hand had slid on top of hers. The right one, only his right hand had calluses, just a few. His palm was wonderfully warm, slender artist's hands, warm like the night of their wedding, pressing on her waist...

"I don't want to die, Pegasus!"

He squeezed, and shook. "You don't really mean to leave me, darling?" He laughed without knowing why. She could sense how panicked he was, fingernails scratching at her hand.

Finally, Cyndia found the strength to lift her eyelids. She could look at her husband... Her beautiful, young husband whose face looked as if it was about to crumble into pieces. Cyndia smiled at the way his mouth was slightly open, sighed at the pinkness of his lips, sorrowed silently for his watery brown eyes.

"Give... Give me a kiss?" In the narrow vision of her tired eyes, he was so lovely.

"Anything. Anything for you, Cyndia. I adore you." And he sprinkled kisses all over her face.

Cyndia looped her arms around his neck as he bent down. "You're not allowed to cry. Shut up. Don't cry, you're making_ me_ cry!"

She heard her husband whisper, _Anything at all,_ into her hair. She had one hand placed on his neck, fingers rubbing behind his ear. It was their little bubble of warmth and kisses so hard they had to break apart for air over and over again, _theirs! _In that moment they kissed with a closeness that matched the closeness of their souls.

* * *

><p>The nurse brought in a tray for dinner. Thus she heard the girl's cry of, "I don't want to die." Her heart jumped, but when she moved closer she saw that the young woman was asleep.<p>

She had been too weak in the past few days to move much. The patient slept on her back, head perfectly straight on the pillow. She kept her hands resting on her stomach, above the sheets. And she kept rubbing her fingers together for warmth, rubbing, rubbing, thumb over knuckle.

"Darling. Give me a kiss," she pleaded, as if a kiss would save her.

The nurse remembered that story. The princess in the tower, sleeping and oh, this woman had golden hair, just like a princess.

Did Sleeping Beauty have such a fitful sleep in her hundred years, though? the nurse wondered. This girl murmured and babbled while she slept; did Sleeping Beauty beg for the kisses that would restore her back to life?

She went closer, nudged the patient's arm a little. Was she... covered in white sheets so the sky blue gown could barely be noticed? Was the collar quite so loose that the princess's neck and shoulders were chilled by the air?

In forty-two years of life, the nurse had never seen a woman who looked so much like a perfect, cursed princess. It horrified her. Another gentle nudge. "Wake up, dear."

At that touch the woman's forehead wrinkled, she licked her paper white lips and said, "Oh." Her husband was nowhere to be found.

* * *

><p>He started screaming when they put a sheet over her face. Pegasus held his hands before him, staring as if he could see the future running through his parted fingers like sand. A hundred nights in a penthouse for the New Year's Eve fireworks, a million morning kisses, trips to the beach every weekend of every summer <em>-with the kids,<em> a voice muttered in his head _kids _and his fingers jerked.

They'd wanted three. Boy, girl, boy. Children. She should have had children; she should have had _time..._

The hands were empty. Nothing he could do.

Pegasus was screaming that she was DEAD. His wife was gone, but when they all looked at him as if he was crazy and averted their eyes sadly Pegasus realised this was beyond their understanding.

Then, the world shrank until it was small as room 354, and groaned on its rusty tracks to a stop.

He should have screamed again when they buried her precious body. He couldn't save her from that. This was the last time he'd be near her. He should have yelled for those black suits to stop the shovelling. But the noise would sound wrong, explosive sacrilege for this place and for Cyndia. The gathered family (the aunt with plump cheeks mopped her eyes with a wine red handkerchief) and friends (from Cyndia's senior years of school, standing like skittish foals in little black dresses they'd first worn to prom) couldn't take their eyes off him. Pegasus with his eyes too wide for a funeral, his face too white for a funeral.

They stood in a bright green cemetery and the weather was warm. Pegasus wondered if Prince Charming had found Snow White on a day like this. Stiflingly warm, trees encircling the hills, and the casket which had still been open that morning. In his imagination, he held Cyndia's cold face underneath him and was kissing desperately, and he swore he_ would_ feel her lips stir-!

His father's hand landed on his shoulder, not signifying anything in particular. Not asking anything of him but not giving anything either.

They buried the girl in whitest white, with pink lilies and roses stuffed into ever inch and corner they could find. In the hospital they had given her get-well-soon bouquets of a _thousand_ colours.

* * *

><p><em>Pegasus Crawford could barely stand to be in the hospital. He'd been there before, quite recently. Hated it. But here, lying on the hospital bed, sweaty hair spread out <em>triumphantly_ on the pillow... Cyndia. His wife was radiating joy and he felt sick, he felt sick._

_And then she was standing, so fast Pegasus hadn't seen her move, or change out of the hospital gown into this thin, long nightdress. She stood so serenely, like the robed women in all those Oriental ink paintings. Alabaster white. Willowy._

_"I did it. Oh gosh, I did it! Pegasus, look, I did it - we have a son!"_

_She thrust the baby in her arms towards him. Wonderingly, he reached out his hands, spread shoulder length apart. Cyndia opened her arms. Whether the child had dropped silently, shattered the back of its skull in a spray of blood, or had strangely evaporated before his eyes into pink spots, he wouldn't quite be able to remember later. He'd dropped the baby, the baby with its runes of dark hair and who hadn't opened its eyes even as it fell. He shivered to see it, centimetre by centimetre, and in that moment it felt like his heart exploded out of sheer panic. He'd dropped her baby._

_Pegasus flailed his arms under the sheets and woke up screaming._


	3. May

_This chapter is called May._

_Toi di tim mot giac ngu binh yen  
><em>_Khong bon chen, khong mong mi  
><em>_Khong hon ghen va khong lua doi  
><em>_Toi di tim mot giac ngu binh yen  
><em>_Mot giac ngu, mot lan trong doi_

_~ Nguyen Khang_

_I'm looking for a peaceful sleep  
><em>_Without the rat race, without dreams  
><em>_No more jealousy and no more deception  
><em>_I'm looking for a peaceful sleep  
><em>_A stretch of sleep for once in my life_

* * *

><p>Pegasus had lived out his entire marriage in this one room. The happiest time of his life and what did he have to show for it? An empty wardrobe, a few strands of hair caught in the hairbrush and a dozen toothbrushes still in their boxes.<p>

The curtains glowed yellow; that meant it was morning again. For so many days Pegasus had mourned by himself, unaffected by the movement of the sun. It rose; Pegasus was asleep. It was noon; Pegasus covered his head with the sheets, cried and tried to imagine her being there. He always felt acutely the heart shuddering inside his ribcage. The sun set, and Pegasus would sneak out blindly, head spinning, ghosting the hallways of Crawford Manor. He'd get back to the bedroom recalling that, yes, he was sure he'd eaten at least something today.

It was strange, the persistent way in which Pegasus Crawford walked. Every day he would walk around the manor with a panicked stomp in his gait. If Pegasus just walked _faster, _just _kept _going, he might just see a bob of golden hair in the next hall. His body believed so fully that he'd bump into her if he just looked hard enough. And Cyndia would fall into the boy's arms, laughing and chastising him at the same time. It would be perfect.

But to search and search, and never to find... Such are the rules of Death.

Pegasus' laptop was on twenty-four hours a day playing an unedited disc of their wedding video. His face on the screen, her laugh through the speakers. The machine sat on a pillow, the pillow Cyndia's head hadn't touched since she left for the hospital. Now it was warmed by the vent of a laptop spewing hot air.

The composition for their dance was original work. Unknown, anonymous. Pegasus couldn't anticipate the next note no matter how many times he heard it; it ran through his head like water but rang through his heart like the stroke of a sword. Violins, singing of loss. Of want. Of love, and... rain. That was the piano.

Eventually the laptop was just background noise. He walked from wall to wall, turned about on the bed. Pegasus hated himself for enforcing his own solitude. He hated being stuck in this passionless bedroom but he hated even more the fact that there was _nothing _for him _out there._

The tinny speakers cried for the umpteenth time: _"Hello! This man here is Pegasus Crawford, do excuse his silliness, I hope he hasn't scratched your camera. Ahh! Pegasus, st- stop that tickles! _As_ I was saying, I made the unlucky decision to marry him. Now I do hope you're not going to edit this out, Mr. Cameraman, because I'd just like to say that nonetheless I love him!"_

* * *

><p>"Good Lord, he must be drinking himself to death!"<p>

"Sir," a man's gravelly voice said, and then the door was kicked in. Croquet, framed in the doorway, sighed imperceptibly. Pegasus' mother had been quite insistent on speed, but Croquet was certain Pegasus would have liked more than a one-word warning.

Considering that Croquet had just kicked his bedroom door to pieces. He was probably fond of that door.

Pegasus' mother instantly pushed her way in, a long black and gold necklace trembling on her chest. She noticed her son's red eyes and stained mug. "Pegasus!" she shrieked.

"Mother. It's _coffee_." He pointed to the en suite, where the electric kettle was plugged in and sitting next to the sink.

"How many have you had, sir?" the bodyguard asked, much calmer than his poor mother.

"Ten sachets. Something like that. I don't think I've slept for thirty hours, and I'd like to keep doing so in peace. So please. Leave."

Croquet gave a sidelong glance at the laptop on the desk - _"What's this in our way, then? Hellooo!"_ The young man winced in embarrassment and let his silver hair drop over his eyes.

"Croquet," his mother said, "I think I need a moment with my son." Her voice was so much quieter now, and she wouldn't look away from the boy sprawled on the bed.

Croquet muttered an, "Understood, ma'am," and Pegasus' mother threw her arms around him as soon as Croquet was through the doorway.

"My baby!" She pulled her son up into a sitting position, pulled him close, stroked the back of his head. Tears trickled into his long hair. "Oh, you're so young, Pegasus... You're far too young to be hurt like this."

"It was too soon," Pegasus murmured sleepily. His eyes stung and his voice was nothing but a croak by now. "We planned this perfect life together. Cyndia deserved children, she deserved to see the world. Fact is she never had these things. Who am I to take them for myself?"

His head was rocked gently. He felt his mother's diamond ring pressing into his scalp with how tightly she was holding him. Pegasus remembered when being hugged by his mother was the nicest thing in the world. How innocent those days had been! Now it was only stiff and unyielding. The female form, Pegasus realised, was so much clumsier, uglier, duller than he remembered. Cyndia had spoiled him.

"There's only one vow left that I can keep. I can be faithful to her until the day of my death."

"Pegasus, I promise you'll love again."

"No," he said morosely. "I won't."

"I understand, dear. You loved Cyndia, and she was a beautiful and worthy girl. But everyone learns this: You have to move on."

Pegasus pulled away and looked at his mother incredulously. "I can't believe you'd say that to me. Here, now, to my face. Love... again? Don't you understand that I _haven't stopped? _I'd lie down to let Cyndia walk on my hands, and- Mother, do you think that just because Cyndia's gone that I can't love her anymore? That all I can give is... is _respect_ and, and just _fondness?_"

His mother looked pained, but Pegasus saw the frightened wobble in the set of her shoulders. She didn't believe that he was saying these things. The words were too strange, and he was too young. "I hate seeing you like this, dear," was all she said.

"I'm still in love with her, Mother." Pegasus' voice was small, shaking uncertainly just as much as his mother's shoulders. Like they had been at the funeral, his eyes were unnaturally widened as if staring at this impossible situation would make it go away.

"Look, perhaps it was God's will. You can forgive that, can't you? At least she's at peace now-" She started as Pegasus, brown eyes flashing, jumped to his feet.

"What god _kills _people like Cyndia? She was only seventeen, she'd done nothing wrong her whole life! _Peace? _She could have been happy here with me!"

"Pegasus, don't turn this into an argument!" But he spun away, hands thrown up in anger.

"As for forgiveness?" the young man hissed. "For taking away the woman I love? Oh, God can do what He likes, but _my _absolution shall never come!"

He spent every day hiding in a different room, after that. He didn't want to sleep in that bed anymore. Alone with the blue and pink pillowcases? Not bloody likely. There was such an intense hatred now, no longer mere dissatisfaction, for the room that rang with old voices.

* * *

><p><em>The door had been fixed, Pegasus saw, and a lopsided smile flickered on his face.<em>

_"I miss you so much, Cyndia." He said this as soon as he stepped into the room. It was the first time he'd spoken above a whisper in weeks. He wasn't afraid to say it aloud now. "I miss you," he said plaintively. He felt wretched and childish but he won't stop._

_Pegasus made for the dresser and wiped the dust off it with a few tissues. It'd been getting on his nerves. Next he opened the drawers, neatly re-stacking the boxes and bags of wedding presents - there was an electric razor he could use, but he'd leave the perfumes in their filigreed boxes._

_The walk-in closet beckoned with its dark wooden door. He thought for a second and remembered that a suit was in there, and maybe four pastel coloured shirts. What else..._

_The swish of a blue skirt. The dress, having been swatted at, settled back into stillness. It really was too dark in that closet. Pegasus grabbed the hook and took it out quickly, one hand supporting the back of the skirt and raising it to the light. It was so soft._

_"I miss you," he sighed. "Seeing you in that dress."_

_I'm talking to nothing, he thought. But I don't feel bad about it at all; it helps, it really does help, pretending to talk to her again!_

_Inexplicably he started to sway, one foot to the other. Cyndia's favourite blue dress was cool against his palm, his fingers slid between the shimmery material as he gripped a handful. Pegasus hummed; all of a sudden the piano tune has crawled into his head._

_Pegasus Crawford smiled at the dress with tears in his eyes. "What I would give to hold you again, darling..."_


	4. June

**A/N: The last picture. As always I hope you enjoy, and please DO leave some critique or any kind of response. :)**

_This chapter is called June. It is now summer._

* * *

><p><strong>Eventually.<strong>

Pegasus snapped out of a daydream and found himself in the wooden-panelled art room. In a moment of panic his eyes darted around, but then he seemed to remember a voice saying, "You have to get back in the swing!"

Yes, someone had pushed him onto a chair by the shoulders. It couldn't have been his father, he had more tact that that. His mother, well, he hadn't seen her in days. Someone brought him messages from her, though. Most likely that person had acted under her instructions and taken him here. A dozen unframed canvases were on the floor, propped against the walls. Pegasus counted four and a half pairs of sweet blue eyes looking beatifically at him. It was how she always looked. Peaceful, in a watery, porcelain sort of way.

So there he was sitting in front of an easel, his usual paint tubes and a box of charcoal on the table.

He was at a loss. The light from the window was warm and bright, making orange lilies explode in his vision. Pegasus mixed some paint, out of habit. Stirred a dollop of violet acrylic on a piece of newspaper. It was a lovely dark shade, pearlescent with shining particles in its depths. One lazy stroke on the corner of the canvas.

Pegasus withdrew his hand, rubbing the thin brush thoughtfully between his fingers, and decided that he didn't want to start with violet. But where could he possibly go from here? ("You'll be back to your normal self if you have just two hours in your art room, dear boy," hadn't they said something like that?)

He kept a jar of water at his elbow, usually, to wash his brushes. He whisked his paintbrush in the water and watched the purple swirl away from the brush and dig its way uncertainly through the water before vanishing. He did this many times with all his colours, just watching. Blind worms, the paint moved like blind worms.

All of a sudden Pegasus took the jar in his hand, threw its contents right at the canvas. The liquid splashed violently and shot off on either side of the easel. Pegasus scraped back his chair and stood, lemon-coloured shirt plastered to his chest with dark water. His stance was shaky. It felt as if his body - a shell, nothing more - was worthlessly weak. This flat chest under the cold and dripping shirt, these young arms and the hands that had never done a real day's work in their existence. Pegasus knew he was pathetic.

"If you can still paint like you used to that means there's nothing wrong at all," that's what they'd _meant!_

Watery mud, he thought with disgust, looking at the liquid running down the wooden legs of the easel, pooling blindly, blindly on the floor. He called his latest work Despair.

* * *

><p>"It's a case of artist's block, then! Here, I have an idea..."<p>

**Then.**Pegasus had never liked going to art galleries, though he counted art as one of his greatest passions. Too often the framed canvases and the wire sculptures he saw there were explosions of rage or madness. And quite frankly, after four years as a high school art student he never wanted anything to do with naked flying babies again.

**Now.** Pegasus wandered among the Renaissance oils, the English landscapes. They were quietly beautiful, glowing with sky blues and greens. He imagined, _remembered,_wandering in just the same way through his parents' manor, trying to find a new room to hide in so his mother wouldn't scream to ask if he was alright. In his studio he'd stroke the dark ridges of oil paint around a perfectly blue eye, her unfinished portrait. Pegasus never expected to see Cyndia incomplete. Not with him around.

He saw the Renaissance oils and the English landscapes; his hands ached for the beauty he had lost. Could no longer create.

Pegasus passed a jealous eye over the brass plates. Who were these names? This dreamer's saints standing on clouds, this madman's grinning tramp on a blackened background; he'd never heard of these screwed-on brass names. But just who were _they_ to be _better_than him?

The hall muttered with the conversations of discerning senior citizens and tourist couples. Pegasus felt nauseous. He was surrounded by so many people but still the gallery stole the vibrancy out of everything. These paintings piled on top of each other. An atmosphere of quiet, endless austerity. There was no _life_in this.

But it was different with the Roman marble.

A nymph mounted in the centre of the room sat atop a tree stump and showed off her marble thighs, seemingly right at him. It was the way one leg stretched out and the other leg folded, the left knee pointed straight out at the viewer- Her hair fanned out on her shoulders, mussed tendrils of stone hair- Pegasus must have looked like a thunderstruck teenage boy, standing in front of her with his mouth open for so long and his eyes glowing so much they looked golden- The nymph's petite toes, the curve of her navel and calves drenched in buttery light- It was as if he was seeing the female figure for the first time _again,_totally new; she was all white, she burned a woman-shaped cut-out in his vision and...

Pegasus didn't feel so sick anymore. He felt young.

The young man walked all around the piece. Slowly, edging clumsily sideways, in between the shoulders of women in black jumpers. She was a block of stone but she was marvellous. It wasn't about brightness and quadrants, or colour and tone with her. It was about the perfection of the subject. Yes... This was how it was supposed to be. Pegasus knew it.

And the morning light from the glass dome roof embellished the nymph's entire body, light scattered like a laugh.

* * *

><p><strong>Much, much later.<strong>

The stranger arrived in a helicopter. He patted the hat on his head, pushed up his frameless glasses, and greeted the head of Industrial Illusions with a crooked smile.

"I have to apologise on behalf of Mr. Kaiba; he was going to come himself until the last minute. I'm afraid the young Master Kaiba has been taken ill."

"Oh my, Mokuba? Nothing too serious, I hope!"

"Just a slight cold, sir."

"Well, isn't it nice of Kaiba-boy to dote on his brother. Now... Office, library or patio, my good man?"

"Ah, office? This shouldn't take too long. I'm just supposed to wave some numbers around for you, forecast sales and percentages and whatnot. If Mr. Kaiba was here he'd talk a lot more about KaibaCorp's progress with the projection technology..."

"You know what? I feel like the library."

* * *

><p>"Aha, here are the forecast sales for the first quarter, and here's the second quarter. Oh, and Mr. Kaiba asked me to mention that the holograms are down to- My. What..."<p>

It wasn't as large as the one that hung near the staircase, nor the one in the tower. This one had been a graphite sketch on a canvas sheet, completed on the ride to Cairo International Airport. Pegasus had painted over it and framed it when he'd gotten home. Now it hung on the wall beneath a cuckoo clock and the man was ambling over to it, reeled in.

"Mr. Crawford, might I ask-"

"I did it myself. Ten by seven and a half inches, completed... Oh, some time ago. Good practice for the cards."

"That's amazing. Quite remarkable."

"Really? Amazing, you say." His voice fought to keep the usual suave, cheerful timbre. Frankly, this man bored him. Probably the most interesting thing about this toadying sycophant was his ridiculous moustache. And he didn't need anyone to tell him he was brilliant. One look into her eyes with the shimmer so realistic, the skill so skilful that it hid itself in the work. That's all it takes to know. To look at the portrait and know "ice blue", the very same shade as water in a Mediterranean lagoon.

"You wouldn't care for a drink? It's a good year. Well, all the ones in my collection are good years."

"No, I don't really drink..." The man tapped his glasses and frowned. "I could _swear_she was real, like she could pop right off the wall!"

Pegasus the multi-millionaire throws his head back and crows. The laughter sounds almost violent. The sunny glow from the window strikes his forehead, usually hidden behind the silver hair he's grown out, and briefly his whole face shines gold. The Millennium Eye seems to revel in the light. Pegasus the multi-millionaire shakes and laughs and cries out:

"She'd have no legs!"

"Mr. Crawford?"

Pegasus fixed a contemptuous eye at the KaibaCorp rep. "Really, you have such a fabulous imagination. Things like that only happen in movies-" He stopped, thoughtfully, with a childish grin lighting up his ivory face. "Oh, well, I suppose with KaibaCorp's new Duel Monsters holograms, a painting coming to life doesn't seem nearly so impossible!"

The man looked embarrassed but he joined the chortling in good humour.

On the circular reading table Pegasus spun a wine glass, round and round so it scraped aloud and the liquid inside rocked and jumped. It was nearly sunset outside the window and the wine looked wickedly rich and dark. He smiled. He was looking at his hand, at the round base of the glass, but his smile was aimed somewhere else. The painting never leaves his mind. Every smile he gives is like a kiss he saves up to send to her, so vividly can he imagine her lips just before him. He thought of the day he'd finally looked at her again, _all_ of her, everything that made her Cyndia the girl he loved. The dab of Titanium White with the number 4 paintbrush, that stroke had seemed so _final._It had been the first time since Egypt.

And Pegasus couldn't help remembering - the images in his head came unbidden and he wondered if it was the Eye that was making them so feel much _realer_now than they had been years before - that she'd died in his arms.

The laughing ended, and mercifully, so did the wobbling of the man's paunch. He sighed as if exhausted but added with a sidelong look at the masterpiece, "Well, it's astonishing, sir."

Round and round. Just some ordinary glass, but look how it sparkled. Pegasus decided to concede. "Hmm, I suppose it is. You know, I was just aiming for beautiful."

At last he tips the glass and drinks up the bitter alcohol that tastes, for all the world, sweet as soda to him.

_FIN_


End file.
